I worked at a bookstore in Tyson’s Corner, VA. Roughly thirty percent of our sales revenue came from best-selling books, forty percent came from the other books and random merchandise, and thirty percent came from magazines. Somewhere between ten and fifteen percent of the total revenue came from pornographic magazines alone. Unfortunately, porno mags also represented the second-highest theft rate of any merchandise category in the store. (That’s the only piece of semisolid information you will find in this reply. The rest is for entertainment purposes only.)
A friend of mine and I spent months categorizing the various types of respectable-bookstore-porno-enthusiasts.
The Morally Repressed: You’ve seen it parodied a million times: “Let’s see, I think I’ll take a copy of The Truth About Money, the latest from Michael Chrichton, one of those John Updike books on golf, a bookmark, and, um, this copy of Oui.” I suspect a lot of these folks just stole 'em, sorta like honest people who shop normally but steal the Preparation H anyway.
The pubescent: I will walk a complete cirucuit around the store, glance longingly at the magazine rack, work my way from news to housekeeping to fishing to muscle and fitness, stop for a minute at Guitar Player and Creem, then dart for an instant to grab a copy of High Society before carefully perusing Good Housekeeping. Then, it’s off to the back of the store to secure the goods, and then march straight for the door, looking as guilty as Rudolf Hess at Nuremberg. Sometimes we’d mess with these kids and ask 'em if they saw anything they liked, but I wasn’t about to ruin some kid’s life just 'cause he was tired of flipping through the back pages of his sister’s latest Cosmopolitan. The Hafts are assholes, anyway.
Eidetic Man: This guy must have a photographic memory. In NoVa, porno must be sold sealed in plastic. This guy goes ahead and grabs what he wants to look at, opens them, carefully scans the pages, then secrets them away either in the magazine rack or elsewhere in the store when he is done and leaves. We loved these guys, because of course we couldn’t sell these mags and had to return them, but not before many a lunch-half-hour of careful examination by much of the staff. On one monumental occasion, we had one unapologetic fellow return no less than seven copies of the hardest-core stuff to a poor young cashier, saying he just realized he wasn’t supposed to open them. Sorry, I’m a bastard.
The Crrreeeeeep: Why in the name of Elbridge Gerry do some people want to take pornography from the shelf back to the freaking children’s books, look at them there, and then drop the pono mags among the kiddie books? I don’t know, but it happened all the time. We were pretty sure this was more than just one person, 'cause we were watching, closely, for this sort of thing. We caught at least two different guys doing this–both white males in their early twenties–and ran 'em out. Happened at least once a month, probably more often.
The Aficionado: “Can you tell me the approximate arrival date of the December Cheri?” Nothing wrong with these folks. They know what they want, and don’t care what you think. They’re collectors, I think.
The 'Core Consumer: The difference between this person and the repressed ones is largely one of degree. Regular customers who like porno is pretty much the best description of these folks and they are by far the largest group of purchasers. In general terms they were of many different shapes and sizes, but universally well-behaved and well-adjusted, as far as one can tell in thirty seconds of check-out interaction.
We had a pretty diverse clientele at my bookstore, but porno definitely separated the men and the women from the boys and the girls. We essentially had to close off the bathrooms, 'cause too many times we’d either catch or find evidence of someone using those magazines in a manner best reserved for after purchase.
Me? I liked Leg Show. That mag is whacked.